I'm looking through you
by GeorgeHarrison'sGreaserGirl13
Summary: It all started on that cold March day. It all started when John became drunk. It all started when he told mean things to George. 'It' as in when George started to slowly kill himself.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! **

**I had this really depressing two-shot brewing up in my mind. I didn't want to forget it, so here I am, writing a depressing fanfiction. Just remember, it's all fiction, it didn't actually happen, and please don't hate on me. I DIDN'T want this to happen in real life I just thought of it.**

**Enjoy…I guess…or cry…either one.**

March 9 1964

George POV

I walked down the quiet Liverpool Street, cigarette dangling out of my mouth and hands shoved deep into my trouser pockets. The air was cold and I was not dressed very warmly. I had a thin white dress shirt on and black trousers. I shivered and walked quickly to the studio. I approached the ugly tall black building and breathed a sigh of relief.

I practically ran into the building and shut the door tightly behind me. I embraced the warmth from the inside of the lobby for a moment. I snapped out of my trance and hung my coat on a cheap plastic hanger in the closet outside the studio door. I heard shouting from inside the chamber and raised my eyebrow. I placed my ear to the door.

"I'll do the fucking song how ever I want, Paul! Shut the fuck up and don't tell me what to do!"

I sighed. John would just randomly blow up sometimes on something stupid. Like me suggesting a guitar chord or Paul fixing a lyric. I cautiously knocked on the door. I heard a grumble and the stomping of feet. The door swung open and there stood John, eyes fiery and face red. I took a step back.

"What the fuck do you want?" he spat in my face. My eyes widened. I always got a bit scared when John was pissed off. He got really aggressive and stuff. He looked at me expectantly.

I looked at my guitar case strapped on my shoulder and back to him. "Umm…well…practise," I said quietly and hesitantly. His face transformed into a snarl.

"Practise? You want to have fucking practise with me? Who wants to play guitar with you? You can't even play! You don't belong in The Beatles! No one fucking likes you!" He shouted in my face.

_I'm looking through you, where did you go…_

Paul, who was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, stood up and walked up behind John.

"C'mon John, you don't mean tha-" Paul started, but was immediately cut off by John.

"No, shut your fucking mouth Paul. George needs to know these things. He doesn't belong in the band. He can't play guitar and sing for his life, and have you seen yourself? You should buy a mirror George."

_I thought I knew you, what did I know…_

"Shut up John," Paul said angrily. "George is an amazing guitarist, and without him, The Beatles would be shit! So think about what you're saying!" Paul shouted.

John scowled and turned to me again. I now noticed the stench of alcohol lingering in him. Oh great, he was drunk.

His eyes turned dark, and honestly, I was scared shitless.

"You know what Geo? Just get out of here. Go kill yourself, like I would care. Just get away from us." He snarled. He snatched the guitar off of my shoulder and threw it across the room. I heard a crash and winced. My favourite guitar.

_You don't look different, but you have changed…_

He slammed the door in my face. I just stood there in shock. What the fuck just happened?

I started to think about what he told me. My heart shattered. Honestly, John was one of my role models. I looked up to him. Maybe those things he said about me were true…

I shakily walked to the public bathroom and walked into a stall. I locked it and slid down the door to the floor. A salty tear cascaded down my cheek. I'm worthless. I kept repeating that in my head, and more tears slid down my face. Soon, I was sobbing. I glanced at the toilet. I took a shaky breath. It's got to be done, I said to myself. I crawled to the toilet, and placed my stomach on the rim. I pushed forcefully.

That was the first day I made myself throw up.

_I'm looking through you, your not the same…_

May 2 1964

Normal POV

George made himself empty his stomach for almost two months. He felt horrible, but at the same time, proud of himself. He didn't eat, which is quite strange for George if you weren't aware of his dirty secret. He only ate if it was completely necessary like if he felt like he was going to pass out, which happened a few times, or if the other Beatles make him.

Ringo had a feeling something was wrong. George not eating? Food was his life. Geo would escape to the bathroom after every meal, and every day, he seemed weaker and weaker. He called in sick quite a few times, and the three musicians were starting to get worried. Ringo finally had enough and he called George into a random room in the studio. George followed, taking a seat in a comfortable blue chair. He had bags under his eyes, and his face was pale. He gave Ringo a smile, but it was visibly forced and hard to do.

"Geo," Ringo started, " If I ask you a question, will you tell me the absolute truth?" he asked.

"Sure, Ringsy. What is it?" George asked. George started to feel panic. What if he found out? He was surely screwed.

"Why are you so unlively and weak lately? Why are you not eating, and escaping to the bathroom after you eat anything? C'mon Geo, you gotta tell me!" Ringo said desperately. "I won't tell any of the lads," He concluded.

George took a deep breath. He knew one of them would find out eventually. He really didn't want to talk, so he pulled up his shirt a little bit. A long purple and blue bruise stretched across his stomach from pushing onto the rim of the toilet.

"Ringo…I don't really know how to tell you. Well, I guess the point is…I've been starving myself for two months." He let the fabric drop and he hung his head in shame.

"Geo…why?" Ringo whispered. George shook his head.

"John said some stuff abo-" George said but suddenly stopped. His eyes became distant and glossy and his face turned another shade paler. Ringo stared at him. George's breath hitched in his throat and his arms hung limp. His body suddenly collapsed and he fell on the cold tile floor. Ringo's eyes went wide.

"George!" he shouted, tears streaming down his face. Ringo knelt down on the floor and put his ear to George's chest.

…

…

…

No sound was heard.

George Harold Harrison had died.

And it was all John's fault.


	2. Chapter 2

Normal POV

The only thing breaking the silence were loud sobs coming from the three Beatles. The men were sitting on an uncomfortable wooden bench at the funeral parlour. The one that had it the worst was John. He couldn't stand up because he was crying so hard. He didn't mean any of the things he said that day. He was drunk, and didn't know what he was saying. He practically killed one of his best mates. He felt horrible and disgusted in himself. He loved George and that was certain.

Ringo was traumatized. He watched his best mate die right in front of him. He was furious with John. If he hadn't gotten drunk that day, George would still be that humorous, lively and hungry lad Ringo was best friends with. Not even best friends, brothers. Paul, John and George were his brothers.

Paul felt like he could've stopped it. He tried, but he could've tried harder. George meant so much to him and he felt like he let him down. A man walked into the room and told the boys to follow him. The three men, still having tears cascading down their cheeks, stood up and followed the man to the funeral room. Thousands of people were there, fans, press and family. Most of the fans were crying and laying flowers next to the casket. It was a sad sight. It was open casket. George lay there, in a black tux, his face pale and flawless. Ringo had the first speech.

He went up to the podium, and stepped onto a stool. He silently cursed his shortness and began speaking.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are her for the funeral of George Harold Harrison. He was my band-mate, my best mate, and my brother. Without meeting him, I would have been a completely different person. He was always there to cheer me up when I was blue and he looked out for me. I loved him with all my heart." A few tears trickled down his face and he wiped them away impatiently.

"He was one of the kindest, caring, happiest, funniest, hungriest people I've ever met and I'm glad He has been part of my life. I will cherish every memory I had of you and I will always love you, forever and always.

"George, if you could hear me, I just wanted to let you know that I love you with every inch of my soul, and you'll always be in my heart. Forever. I hope you're happy up in heaven, playing your guitar with Stu and smoking cigarettes, eating cheeseburgers and Jelly babies. Always be happy, and one day, we'll be reunited again," Ringo finished. Now, he was close to breaking down. His eyes were like waterfalls as he weakly shuffled his feet to the open casket. In his pocket, was a thin chain, with a simple peace sign charm on it. Ringo sniffed and placed it in George's cold hands.

"So you could have me with you," Ringo whispered. He kissed George's forehead and looked at him one more time.

His face was so elegant and flawless; it looked like he was only sleeping. It looked like he would wake up in any moment and greet Ringo with a sarcastic comment.

But he didn't.


	3. Chapter 3

George POV

I heard whispering. Hushed little voices talking. I didn't feel like opening my eyes. I felt so tired, I didn't know why. The whispering continued. It got a bit louder, into low voices. I scrunched up my face in confusion. The voices stopped. What the hell?

I finally opened my eyes a crack. I saw bright lights. Wait, not lights. I just saw white. It was bright though. I closed my eyes again.

"Wakey wakey Georgie," said a familiar scouse accent. My eyes popped open. The light burned but I didn't car. I looked around, and next to me was my long lost buddy.

Stu.

"Stu!" I exclaimed and hugged him. I missed him so much. We became good friends when he was the bassist for the Silver Beatles. He hugged back. But I quickly retreated. "Where the fuck am I?" I asked and looked around me. All I saw was white. No walls, just white. I was lying on the floor of wherever I was just moments ago. This place just seemed to stretch on and on.

"Heaven," Stu answered simply. My eyes widened. I suddenly remembered that I killed myself. I looked down and I was wearing a casual button up beige shirt and black trousers. I lift my shirt up and there was no bruise.

I remembered the whispering. It was more than one person, and all I saw was Stu.

"Stu, why did I hear whispering before?" I asked curiously.

"I heard it too, when I came here. The people whispering are deceased relatives or people you know that are here. Some you've never even met and are NOT related to you, like fans. Remember George, you are famous." He said. I shrugged. This was so weird.

"When someone dies, they appear here, in heaven, close to someone they know who is already here. Like me. Let's say John dies, he would appear somewhere near us."

I winced at the word 'John'. I missed my best mates already so much. I din't want them to die, but I don't want them to be so far away from me as well.

"Also, there is something called your GB. Ghost Body. When you want to go in the real world and check up on people, you enter your GB." He said and my eyes widened once again.

"I can visit them?" I practically shouted. Stu chuckled and nodded.

"You could also enter their dreams to actually communicate. In your GB, they can't actually see or hear you." I was ecstatic.

'Well come on then!" I said. "How do you enter your GB?

"Well, it's quite simple really. All you have to do is place one hand on your stomach, the other in the air, holding up three fingers, and say where you want to go in the world. Try it."

I nodded and placed a hand on my stomach and the other in the air holding three fingers.

"Abbey Road Studios."


	4. Chapter 4

George POV

All of a sudden, my feet left the ground, and I couldn't breathe. It felt like I was being squeezed through a skinny tube. Finally, my feet hit a surface and a gush of air went down my throat. Once I regained my balance I looked around me and smiled. A tear trickled down my cheek. I walked to the first door on the right. The door I've opened and walked through so many times before. On the top it stated in white print-'The Beatles'. I touched the doorknob but my hand went right through it. I walked through the door, literally. Gear. I looked around me and immediately frowned. It looked so…empty. The drum set was gone, so where the amplifiers. Paul's Hoffner was not on his usual stand. John and I always joked about how Paul probably slept with it in his arms. I sighed at the thought. I terribly missed John. I was so stupid to believe the things he said about me. He was drunk, after all.

More tears fell down my face, but I didn't even bother wiping them away. I looked at the scuffmarks on the floor that John made with his shoes just to piss Paul off. I saw the mini cartoon version of a guitar John drew on the table when Eppy was giving him a boring discipline lesson. I turned around and my breath hitched in my throat.

A beautiful portrait was painted on the wall. It was a young man. His brown eyes were intense and almond shaped. His thin lips separated greatly, to reveal white teeth and fangs. His hair was black and covered his bushy eyebrows. His long locks were fashioned in a bowl cut, going past his ears to his neck. He looked so happy, so carefree.

It was me.

Around it, were all names. Of the staff, of fans, of the three remaining Beatles. I looked intensely at my neck in the painting, and saw a long silver chain, with a small peace sign charm. I looked down on my own neck to see it there as well.

It was the necklace Ringo gave me.

I broke down, and collapsed on the floor. I cried. It was all I wanted to do at the moment. Cry. Why, George? Why did you do this to yourself? I cried even harder. I couldn't take it. I wish I were in the real world. I just had to kill my self, didn't I? At the top of the painting, said: 'Rest in peace George Harold Harrison'. I stood up shakily, sobs still jerking my body. I didn't know how to go back.

"Back," I whispered. "I want to go back," I said. I felt that sickening sensation again and I was back at the white place. I still had silent tears going down my cheeks. John's words hit me hard, but I didn't have to kill myself. It sickens me. He changed me.

_I'm looking through you, you're not the same._


	5. Chapter 5

_**George POV**_

I felt the sickening feeling again as I entered my GB. Ever since the visit with the painting, I've just stayed in this place. I think its heaven, but I'm not really sure. Slowly, things start to appear. Like now I live in my old house I had in the real world. I'm always with Stu. We've become inseparable.

I appeared in front of the big building like last time, determined to find someone. I needed to see someone from the real world. It's killing me. I entered Abbey Road Studios and went through the studio door. I expected to see the room empty, which it was, but instead I saw John sitting in the middle of the room staring at the portrait of me. His eyes were glassy and he looked disoriented. I ran to him and tried to touch him, but of course, my hand went right through him. He kept staring at the picture, rarely blinking. He sighed and a tear tickled down his cheek. The only time I saw John cry was when his mom died, and at my funeral, which I saw.

He pulled something shiny out of his jacket. NO no no no no. It was not what I thought it was. It couldn't be. It couldn't. But my thoughts were confirmed when I looked at it closely. John put the object to his head, the cool metal giving him goose bumps.

It was a gun.

He took a deep breath and put his finger on the trigger. Another tear.

"JOHN! JOHN DON'T!" I screamed, but he couldn't hear me.

Paul burst through the door.

"JOHN! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? PUT THE GUN DOWN!" Paul screamed, tears streaming down his face.

But it was too late.

**3****rd**** person**

Paul had two out of three of his best friends in the world die. One of them, right in front of him. It didn't have to be that way. They didn't have to commit suicide. Someone decided to open up his big mouth.

_It was all John's fault._


	6. Chapter 6

**George POV**

I transported to the dead world. That's what I call it. There isn't really a name for it, not that I know of. I was breathing heavily and tears were streaming down my face. This was all a dream. I had never died. John had never died. Speaking of John, how could he do this? I started sobbing uncontrollably. He didn't know how much he'll regret it.

I plopped myself down on the grass and cried into my hands.

"George?"

I knew that voice anywhere. Instead of being happy at John, I was absolutely furious.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS!?" I yelled. He stepped back, a frightened look on his face. "YOU DIDN'T DESERVE TO DIE!" I screamed, my hands shaking.

"WELL NEITHER DID YOU!" He shot back. "YOU DIED BECAUSE OF ME! THIS WOULD HAVE NEVER HAD HAPPENED IF I WASN'T A FUCKING BASTARD! CAN'T YOU SEE THIS IS ALL MY ENTIRE FAULT?!" He shrieked, tears pouring down his face.

I was about to punch him, I was serious.

"YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!" I cried. "YOU'RE GOING TO REGRET THIS! WHY DID YOU EVEN-"

"I LOVE YOU!" John screamed in my face. I stared at him in shock.

"I love you too, Johnny, but I WOULDN'T KILL MYS-" I started.

"NO GEO!" John suddenly cut me off. "I DON'T JUST LOVE YOU! I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU! I'M A BLOODY QUEER AND I'M IN LOVE GEORGE FUCKING HAROLD HARRISON! THERE! THAT'S WHY!" He roared in my face. My mouth must have been down to the floor. John's eyes softened and he closed my mouth for me. He looked at my eyes then my lips. He started leaning in slowly.

"John…I-" I whispered.

'Sssh. Geo, I love you," He whispered in a loving tone.

I blushed and looked at my shoes.

He tipped my head to I was looking into his eyes.

He leaned in more and I didn't stop him.

It just felt…right?

And then I realized.

I loved John. I just only realized my love was stronger than I thought it was. When John yelled those insults at me that cold day in studio, I felt hurt. But I felt really hurt because his words didn't only cut through me like a knife, but I loved him, in _that _way. That's why I killed myself because I thought he didn't love me back.

It all made sense now.

My eyes flickered to his lips, and back to his eyes. Finally, our lips met.

And you know what?

I kissed back.

Well, I guess we're both bloody queers.

I pulled back and played with the hair on the back of his neck.

"I love you Georgie. Wait-no. I'm in love with you, Georgie," John whispered, staring into my eyes.

"I'm in love with you too, Johnny," I breathed out. He grinned and kissed my lips again.

We're a bunch of messed up, happy queers.

And I liked it like that.


End file.
